Tonight's Entertainment
by Myne Comix Meg
Summary: Even parties in Gotham attract clowns. (First fic; r&r.)


**Formerly Party Crasher, Party Starter**  
A One-Shot/Novelization of The Dark Knight Party Crashing Scene  
**By:** Myne* Comics Meg  
**Date:** Dec 12, 2012 - Jan 24, 2013

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**A/N: (Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, Rachel Dawes or The Joker (unfortunately!); if I did, I'd be really rich, and last time I checked, I'm not. So all rights belong to the brilliant Christopher Nolan, Warner Bros., and DC Comics. I only own Joker's thoughts, put into my head by Heath Ledger's marvelous acting performance. Kudos to all the above.**

** If it helps, I'd recommend watching this scene before reading (or after) to see if I got it all right. I tried my best, and that's all I can do! Please read and review; your feedback means a lot to an aspiring author and fanfictionist like me!)**

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******For Heath Ledger, who is my favorite Joker of all, and so dedicated to hitting perfection in the role, he inspired me to get creative with his interpretation of the character. ****Rest in peace; you accomplished your impossible goal. And thank you.**

******You may read now. XD**

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His blackish brown eyes took on a hard glint as he passively glared back at the old windbag in front of him. He had dared to feebly challenge him by speaking, and the words that came out of his face, although meant to sound brave, really, he did not like. Not. One. Bit.

He jutted his head forward in consternation, as though he were studying the man's seriousness.

Not intimidated by thugs, eh? That was rich! That was just dandy. He couldn't help feeling a hint of aggravation and offense at the old senator, or whatever he was. Sure, he'd brought some thugs along for the ride; insurance against people with ideas of heroics. But he was no thug. That was practically an insult, to his over-active, buzzing mind. No, no, no, he was so different, so much better than that! And if there was anyone in that room the raisin gent need be intimidated by more than clown-masked thugs, it was him. His mask was real.

And it wasn't a mask.

Oh, well. He was in no great hurry, and had enough time to play this new game. He briefly wondered how brave grandpops would be with an Extractor 1600 OTF switch-blade in the face.

"Ya know," he paused, as if thoughtfully, clunking his shotgun loudly on the table beside him three times for emphasis.

He was still sloppily munching the orderve he had just unceremoniously popped into his mouth. What had that been, anyway? He needed to clear out the sustenance before speaking. Talking with one's mouth full was always rude. Manners.

He swallowed enough to speak.

"You remind me of my father," he continued, nodding seriously, his dangerously lowered voice dripping with derision and sarcasm, piercing eyes never leaving the man's pallid face. As if he was being _serious_.

He gave a few, noisy last crunches of finality to the unfortunate treat before gripping the back of the old man's head with viper-like speed, and jerking his wrinkly face towards a heavy-duty, potato-peeler-looking blade, seemingly whipped out of nowhere. The man's posture suddenly went even more rigid, and his beady eyes widened in terror behind his glasses as Joker spoke again. That look alone made him want to laugh hysterically right there. Oh, if he could have a dime for every time he'd seen that look on some unfortunate's face, he'd be as rich as the rest of these "civilized people"! But then again, it's never been about the money for him. For him, it's always been about "the message" - _his_ message.

His nostrils flared, as he inhaled and said with a feral growl, "I _**hated**_ my father!"

"Okay, stop!"

Joker froze for a hair of an instant, and looked in the direction of the interruption, obsidian eyes narrowing suspiciously. A strong, female voice of opposition. Hmm. Who among these mice of men and women - rich wimps, all of them, he had been sure - would have the guts to speak up at a time like this?  
Oh, he wasn't afraid, no, no! He feared absolutely nothing. But this situation was at a very high stress level, and most average human beings tended to lose their minds at even the smallest hint of things not going according to plan; the slightest scent of chaos. But then again, he was not your average human being.

And he practically reeked of chaos.

He turned to see who had spoken too hastily, so rashly. Was she going to regret her compassion-driven action of stepping in. He wasn't going to hurt the old codger! No! He just wanted to see if he could make him wet his Depends a little, was all. Now, he was ready to play a new, even better game, one that required stories and knives and lots and lots of blood - preferably hers.

He couldn't help a barely repressed smirk at the woman whose foolish courage had put her under his curious scrutiny. She emerged from the party people, a thin, ugly brunette in a too-tight, non-flattering green dress, who was looking rather concernedly at the goings on.

Ah. Rachel Dawes. Assistant district attorney to the White Knight of Gotham, Harvey-Harvey-Coin-Toss-Heads-Or-Tails-Dent. His little bunny, or blushing bride to-be. Not exactly his first choice in target; no, he really was looking for Harvey. But, he'd just got done saying he would settle for his loved ones. And this bean pole was definitely a loved one; he knew. Chaos was being kind to him this night! Oh, was _this_ going to be fun.

He slightly pushed the frightened, elderly gent away from himself.

"Well, hello, _beautiful_!" he greeted with a jovial, nearly flirtatious tone to his naturally nasally, high-pitched voice.

He had begun walking towards her, licking his scarlet lips, and smoothing back his sickly green-tinted, - it used to be blonde, if he remembered correctly; he usually didn't - greasy hair with his knife occupied hand as he approached. The cocky bad boy act. It had gotten some women. Some very stupid, now very dead women.

She had bravely crossed her arms before her, taking a stance that he assumed was meant to show she was now in control of the situation. Foolish little paralegal!

Nervous people pushed one another out of the way of his wake towards Rachel. Sheep, all of them, scattered by one wolf in a dashing, unusually lethal, all-concealing, purple ensemble and face-paint. He shook his head mentally before speaking again.

"You must be Harvey's sqa-_ueeze_," he over-enunciated, gesturing in her direction with the knife. "Hm?" he nodded, as if seeking affirmation to his statement. He wasn't.

He was right up on her now.

"And you _are_ _beautiful_," he reiterated huskily, over-confident, sarcastic swagger emanating from his every movement.

Inside, he was laughing hysterically. Beautiful? Now,_ that_ was a joke! Where could anyone pull that notion out of?! Her parents must've looked like cows. More laughter.

He stopped beside her only momentarily, and she stiffened, posture unnerved, wary. He noticed; his eyes had always been keen.

He began to circle her quickly, silently, stalking her as one would stalk prey. Taking her in, every inch of her. Trying to knock her off her confidence, make her nervous, get her to think she looked interesting to him. Which she didn't.

Her façade broken for the moment, she flinched away from him as his circle got closer and smaller, invading her personal space with his face.

_"__Why so cautious?"_ he wanted to ask. He only wanted to smell her - like a dog smells a person to see if it approves - to see if that's what people liked or found attractive about the homely, completely unattractive woman. He inhaled her scent. Sweet peas. Gag.

She ducked her head and turned with him to keep him in her sights. His inner laughter started up again. Smart girl, not to turn her back on a homicidal maniac in clown make-up. But she was holding up the game; she was keeping him from his fun.

This would never do. It was time to get up close and uncomfortably personal.

In one swift motion, Joker weaved back in front of her, ending their little dance. His pasty, white-painted face was mere inches away from hers, and the air around them stilled dangerously. He could taste the roiling nervousness in it, and it sent delighted chills up and down his spine.

Her shoulders remained hunched up, a more tense reflection of the clown standing before her, studying her drawn, gaunt, porcelain features, and the too-big, too-far-apart, worried blue eyes.

She suddenly looked skittish, like she suspected he was about to do something. Perhaps it was the scars? He decided to voice his thoughts.

"You look nervous," he said, gesturing to his face with the knife, innocence and concern plastered over his face like a mask akin to the one of paint he wore.  
"Is it the scars? Ya wanna know how I got 'em?" Joker continued, his voice growing deeper.

No answer. She really didn't want to know. Which was too bad, as he'd just thought up a doozy to tell her, and she was going to hear it, whether she wanted to or not. As it really was not up to Rachel; Joker held the knife.

They were close, now. So close, their noses could've touched. Had she looked interested in an Eskimo kiss from a madman, he might have considered it. Throw a little love into the mixture. Confuse their public._  
_

Nah! That much ugly so close would surely make him puke. Oh, how his inner laughter loved that one! He should've become a comedian...

She wouldn't speak.

_"Ah, not so tough after all, eh, butterball!"_ he thought to himself.

He nodded for her, as she was apparently frozen, and gestured for her to approach him. As if any sane person in their right mind would even consider the proposition.

She didn't budge. Hmm. Too sane, if not too scared, to move. He'd fix that for her, too, if he had to. They had a show to do, didn't she know...

"C'mere," he muttered darkly, grabbing her now very tense body by placing a purple clutch around the back of her neck - very careful not to disturb her_ lovely_ hair, of course; she'd probably spent_ hours_ trying to get the annoying little brown knot to look perfect for her Harvey -, and bringing her uncomfortably close to himself.

She struggled for freedom from his vice-like grip for a moment, her eyes wide, and fearful, seemingly searching the room for... Something. Someone, perhaps. The Batman, maybe? He hoped so. _He_ was just too much fun.

"Hey... look a' me," he murmured to her as he gripped her face under her chin; rough, purple-gloved fingers pushing dents in her squishy, china-pale cheeks.  
He positioned the shiny blade near her tightened, glossy lips. It was almost like calming a horse.

Funny, she smelled even more nauseating up close. Like extremely pure goodness and expensive, scented lotions and perfumes and soaps and stuff. He briefly wondered if she thought the same thing about his smoky, yellow, champagne-tinted breath. He also had a sudden, vague impulse that made him want to toss her out a window. Hmm. Plenty of windows up here. Maybe he'd get a chance to do that later. Such an advantage he'd have then...

But the fast-paced, chaotic roving of his thoughts was beginning to ramble. He was getting ahead of himself; he still had some small business to attend to. A small audience in the midst of a large crowd to entertain. Mustn't disappoint, no, no...

He tongued at the interior of his shredded mouth loudly, giving Rachel a moment to still, before beginning his macabre tale.

_"And here we... __**Go**__!"_

"So, I had a wife - beautiful, like you," he lied, licking his lips.

Really, he wanted to scream **"LOOK AT ME!"** Because she wasn't doing as he'd - so politely - requested. Was it so much to ask one's full attention over something so little? It was the least she could do, in her predicament, anyway.

She seemed to be trying to steady herself by keeping her eyes closed or completely down-turned. That really wasn't necessary. Didn't she know when he held on to something, he held on to it good? He'd done this very thing so many times; he would keep her plenty steady.

"...who tells me... I worry too much. Who tells me I ought'ta _smile_ more. Who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks."

He raised and lowered his voice with tenderness and affection and hatred and paused as the words required. He was a master at manipulation, an actor genuinely good at his craft.

He was probably scaring the living peanuts out of her, because she wouldn't look directly at him anymore, but rather, she grimaced and watched only his mouth, as it formed the terrible words about the exaggerated slits on either side of his ever-moist, red lips.

"Hey," he murmured to regain her focus.

She was struggling again. She could probably tell it was about to get ugly. Again, he restrained her with his skinny, yet surprisingly strong, wiry arms.

"One day, they carve her face," he spat carefully.

A dramatic pause for the horror to sink in, for here was where her calm, cool, collected eyes finally raised, and got sucked into the glinting, kohl-imbedded pits that were his. He had her attention. He had every person present's attention. He always got their attention whenever he mentioned there might be a reason for the madness. She was listening to the story, now, and like it or not, she couldn't stop herself from becoming immersed in the lie. Because that's all it ever was.

She was paying such close attention, now, hanging on to his every word. Oh, how he loved to tell these stories! That was all they really were - personalized horror stories. Created by him on the spurs of moments just like this one, to frighten and terrify his victims. He only told them what he felt each individual needed to hear before he sent them on their merry way to the Pearly Gates; it gave a bit of closure or epiphany to their lives. They were all - had all been - individuals, after all. That's why every story was tailored to size, had to fit to each person, needed to be different, unique, fresh and new each time. Because even though they were all lies, in a way, every time he'd told one, he'd told the truth - _their_ truth.

He'd told one earlier in his visit to Gotham to some mob jerk named Gambol, wasn't it? Something about his father being a drinker - or was it a fiend. Or was it both? A kitchen knife... Why so serious?... Trivial details. Ah, well. He'd surely recall the incident later.

He never could remember just how he really got the lacerated smile that slashed red from ear to ear. He probably never would. It didn't matter to him, though. However he'd gotten it or whomever had given it to him, the event had clearly changed him, made him who he was. Obviously, he liked the way he was now, and remembering his existence before all this simply wasn't worth his time. Besides, anything was possible; there were so many ways one could receive a Glasgow grin, as he well knew. And making up new ones was much more fun to him, and the yarns gained him such _interesting_ reactions.

For now, however, he continued with the dish at hand, Rachel's story - the one he'd fashioned out of the depths of his inner darkness just for her. And in a way, it was true.

"We have no money for surgeries. _She can't _take_ it_."

Now, to insert a little tremor to the voice, a hint of passion, a drop of love lost, a tinge of pain.

"I just wanna see her _smile_ again. Hm? I just want her to know _I don't_ care_ about the _scars!" his voice almost sobbed as he shook her slightly for emphasis.

Was that a look of pity or sympathy he saw flit across her features? Sadness felt for his poor, tortured and demented soul?

_"Aw. Trying to understand it all, are we? Tsk, tsk, Rachel,"_ he thought mockingly, _"slipping into trusting the madman already." _Such misguided compassion and empathy. How idiotic. And he thought she was better than that.

"So," she was struggling again; trying to look anywhere but into the abyss. He wrestled the softness of her skin still once more, digging his long, tapered fingers deeper into her flesh. He pointed to his own face with the blade, and said, "I stick a razor in my mouth, and do_ this_," he lifted his chin to give her a better look at his prized possessions, slavering his lips as he did so, "to myself."

Her eyes glanced up there, almost disgustedly, for an instant, before darting away to take in something else; something perhaps a little less frightening. Knife. Scars. Hands. Eyes. Her gaze never held anything for too long. She winced slightly. Perhaps he was holding her to tightly. Too bad. She wriggled too much anyway. No other way to keep an uncomfortable woman still, as he'd learned over the years.

"And you know what?"

Pause for effect. Give a disturbed twitch to the mouth, an almost smile.

**"She can't stand the sight of me!"**

He jostled her a bit, for melodrama's sake; he knew, could feel, she didn't like it when he did that.

Tongue darting out between his torn lips to wet them again, he shook his head in an almost reproving, scolding gesture.

"She _leaves_."

And here came the punchline, the moral of the story. Gently, he patted her pretty white cheek with the knife still held in his hand - a mocking calming caress.

"Now, I see the funny side."

Was that a hint of a smile on her face? Her eyes were no longer clouded over with shock; they were clear with understanding. She seemed to be nodding of her own will, not just Joker's prodding. Perhaps she could see it now, too.

He tilted his head back to look into her eyes, and smiling at her blissfully, he spread out his right hand widely to give expression to his final, closing statement. The end of the joke.

"Now, I'm always _smiling_!"

She must've taken that as an insult. Either that, or she'd become fully aware that he was spouting nothing but bull because, suddenly, a new look came over Rachel's face - one of determination, defiant disgust and obvious irritation - and all of a sudden, he felt a sharp pain in his personal area. He let out a short groaning burst of air. Knee to the groin. Lovely. Such nice manners she had, for a lady lawyer.

He got the feeling she would never have done that to the precious Harvey-Harvey-Dent, or better yet to Bruce Wayne, if the rich, gorgeous, Brat-Prince of Gotham ever got that close to her. Speaking of which, where was the Wayne heir? This was his penthouse and his shindig, after all. Step out for a smooch with a model or two? He chuckled inwardly. Probably ran yellow when he heard the Joker had crashed the fund-raising party.

No equals to be found in Gotham City. None at all. None at all, save one...

He stepped back, bending over a little to give way to the blossoming pain, and feigned to laugh disconcertingly, although the injured party hurt like the devil.

_He_ was here. He could feel it, could sense _him_; his other half, his only equal.

_"Ah, _there's_ a Batman! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"_ he hummed tunelessly in his brain. He wondered if _he_ could hear him thinking. He thought he could hear _him_ thinking.

Now was as good a time as any for him to give an opening for dramatic entrance. After all, isn't that just what all freaks like the Joker wanted? And_ he_ was a freak like him, not a doubt about it. Not. One. Bit.

"Little fight in ya," Joker taunted, grinning and shaking the knife in his fist at her. By threatening her, he hoped to tease and provoke _him_ out of the shadows to play, by advancing - with seemingly violent intentions - on an innocent. He was targeting his enemy's weaknesses, the powerless and being powerless._ He_ never could stand to see them hurt.

Taking a deep breath to replace the one he'd lost, he straightened up, and stepped back towards her; jerking his shoulders as if to adjust in his suit, and nodding. An unspoken dare aimed for her new-found confidence, to embolden her to further action. He liked doing that. He liked doing that a lot.

He brandished the shining weapon once more, encouraging her sudden sense of self-preservation.

Then, bracing himself for the sudden impact he was sure was coming, - unstoppable force finally meets immovable object? Oh, he hadn't crashed any party; no, no! The party was just getting started! - he menaced huskily, "I like that."

**"Then you're gonna love me."**

Fin.

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**A/N ****It took me approximately three hours to compile the main draft of this one-shot based entirely on The Party Crashing Scene from that awesomest of all Batman films in history, The Dark Knight, which interestingly enough, I haven't seen. Which stinks. XD**

****** I say three hours because that's how long it took to analyze every bit of that scene by rewinding and watching it over and over again! Which was a pleasure! XD It all started because I was bored on a long drive home, and I had been watching Joker scene clips on YouTube. **

******This is my diligent rendition of every movement and action and look and intonation made by the primary characters of this scene, Rachel Dawes (who gets seriously bashed by the Joker; sorry, don't hate. I don't particularly care for her character or looks, pretty in her own way though she may be, and I honestly don't think the Joker thought of her much higher either), and my personal pet, The Joker.**

**Also, as HoistTheColours so generously reviewed and pointed out, this is not a very original idea. For that, I apologize, especially if this is your zillionth time reading this scene. However, I hope you still enjoy my fresh take on it! If you don't, feel free to flame (use tiny matches?), or blame the beautiful Heath Ledger for being so amazing as to cause me to randomly start jotting this scene down in the car while feeling bored on my iPod! (I wouldn't advise the second option, though, as the Joker is easily offended and might come after you. lol! X} )**

**Special thanks to Jacob C., my first reviewer, who graciously reviewed and gave good advice for my further ventures. You're pretty awesome, dude.**

**Also thanks to ZenyZootSuit, my second reviewer, who keeps my heart laughing with her enthusiastic reviews and hilarious PMs! Her story is pretty awesome, too! I suppose you could read them back to back because they both take place within The Dark Knight timeline! Keep in mind the order of events, though; mine happened first - bua ha ha! X}**

**Also thanks to Lorien Urbani and L van Am, who encourage me via PM to keep on writing!**

**Very special thanks to the wonderful HoistTheColours, who gave good concrit and very kind encouragement! Check out her story Hero; it rocks! :)**

**Shout out to wouldyouliketoseemymask: thank you for your review! And yes, I would love to see your mask! X} (Hey, I'm a joker; what can I say ((Why so serious?!)) Lol!)**

**You are all awesome!**

******This is my very first Batman Begins/Dark Knight one-shot, and I just joined the site yesterday, so please be gentle in your reviews, if you feel this is worthy of your review in the first place. After seeing the movie on my birthday, I feel like I let everybody down, with how lame this is compared to how awesome I thought it was in my brain. :( Anyway... **Reviews are love! Thank you! Meg :)


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